Socialite
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Christmas, 1968. Bellatrix loathes Christmas. She is forced to co-host a grand party, but there is one upside - she finally gets to meet the wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort. One-Shot with hints of Bellamort.


_December, 1968_

_Black Family Home, Milton Keynes_

"I hate Christmas." Bellatrix dragged the base of her wand up the gilded frame of a mirror. She sighed and looked around the extravagant ballroom and observed the decorations that had been put up for the guests. A half dozen evergreen trees dripping in crystals and burgundy velvet towered in the room. Garlands billowed. Floating, twinkling orbs of glowing gold twinkled throughout the air. A small ensemble of enchanted strings and brass played carols in the corner, waiting for people to come and mingle through the music.

There were tables of pastries and savoury snacks along the wall by the tall, arched windows. There were bowls of cranberry-orange punch, of warm Butterbeer, mulled wine. There was a large cake of rich chocolate with cherries. Everything in the Black family home was ready for a party - including the Black family itself.

"How does one _hate Christmas?_" demanded Narcissa, who was thirteen and looked resplendent in her innocence. She wore a silvery white dress with full skirts and trumpeted sleeves, and her blonde hair, with its shock of brown, had been pulled over one shoulder in carefully coiffed waves. "Christmas is the most magnificent time of the entire year. How could one possibly despise it?"

"It is gaudy in its jollity," Bellatrix sneered. "I don't like things that are so obnoxiously happy."

"No. You wouldn't," scoffed Andromeda Black. She had come to the party in rich emerald green velvet. Her auburn hair was pulled over her head in a knot of braids, and she looked lovely. She narrowed her hazel eyes at Bellatrix and demanded, "Why do you insist on dressing for even the most festive occasions looking like you're going to a funeral, Bellatrix? Whether you like it or not, it _is_ Christmas."

Bellatrix glanced down at herself. She'd dressed in black lace. Her gown was high-necked, with long sleeves and a waist that nipped in tightly around her tiny frame. Her skirts, with their shiny black beads in the lace, fell heavily to the ground and pooled just a little around the black high-heeled ankle boots she'd worn. Bellatrix had lined her eyelids darkly and had worn deep red lipstick. She'd pulled her wild curls into a loose bun at the back of her head and bound them up with a length of black lace ribbon. She thought she looked perfectly respectable. She glared at her younger sisters and snarled,

"Just because you two have decided to dress like little charming _things_ doesn't mean I have to go along with it, eh? When we're at Hogwarts, I wear Slytherin robes because I've no choice. But I'm of age now. If I want to dress like this for a party, I damned well shall, and you -"

"Girls. No arguing. Guests are arriving." Druella Black's heels clacked at the grand entrance of the ballroom, and she shot her three daughters a scolding look. She shook her head and insisted, "Put on welcoming faces now. This is an honour, having him here tonight."

Bellatrix's stomach quivered. Him. _Him_. Tom Riddle, who styled himself as _Lord Voldemort. _He had come back from the Continent and rocketed into everyone's consciousness. Apparently, he had lead a gang of Slytherins at Hogwarts that had included Cygnus Black III, Bellatrix's father. But Cygnus had been younger than Tom Riddle, and Cygnus had always scrambled for the elder, more powerful boy's attentions. Now it was Tom Riddle doing a bit of scrambling. He was trying to get money, Druella told Bellatrix. He was trying to acquire followers for a political movement. Bellatrix had asked a lot more questions after that, and she had rather liked the answers she'd received.

Apparently Tom Riddle, or _Lord Voldemort, _as he apparently preferred, was something of a successor to Gellert Grindelwald… but better. He wanted a world where Muggles and Magical people lived entirely separately, where Magical culture took its rightful place as the superior form of life. Tom Riddle wanted witches and wizards to get the recognition they deserved as the utmost example of magic in its purest form, above other Beasts and Beings. He wanted Blood to be as pure as possible; he wanted society to make sense. He wanted a Ministry that actually cared about registering marriages, births, deaths, and education for the good of the wizarding world… a Ministry that took active steps to improve upon what was happening within the population. He would lead the wizarding world to this glorious idea, too. He was the one to do it, because he was incredibly powerful and incredibly intelligent. Everyone knew that much. Even Bellatrix knew that much, and she hadn't even met him.

Not yet, anyway. She wanted to meet him tonight, and as Druella turned to walk away from the ballroom doors, Bellatrix gulped. Andromeda seethed out a breath through her teeth and said in a huff,

"Just wait until I tell Ted that Tom Riddle was at our party. Ted loathes that man with the fire of a thousand Suns. I swear, it's like he -"

"Ted Tonks is a Mudblood," Bellatrix snapped, "and you disgrace our family having anything at all to do with him, Andy."

"Mum said no arguments," Narcissa cut in in a meek voice. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and walked off toward a table of pastries. Her skirts dragged on the shiny wood floor behind her, and Bellatrix found herself hoping no one would step on them tonight. She walked right up to a little platter of petit fours and plucked one, popping it into her mouth.

"Bella!" hissed Narcissa. "Don't touch the food! Mum will be… oh! Hello, Mr and Mrs Avery! Welcome."

People began arriving in droves then. Bellatrix spent a solid half hour in dull but necessary conversation discovering all sorts of things she didn't care about. Lilac Greengrass had given birth to her twins. Mr Yaxley had taken a new position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. One of her most sour Rosier cousins was going to come stay with them over the summer, after she graduated from Beauxbatons. The attempted break-in at Borgin and Burkes the previous autumn had been solved; a drunken Half-Blood had Vanished the window and set off the magical alarm before Disapparating.

By the time Bellatrix had chatted with half of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she was itching to meet Tom Riddle… _Lord Voldemort._ She finally managed to excuse herself from a vapid conversation with her schoolmate, Priscilla Parkinson. Bellatrix stalked away from Priscilla and looked around the mirrored, gilded ballroom. Her parents were standing with Abraxas and Margot Malfoy near one of the towering Christmas trees. Andromeda and Narcissa were in clusters of Hogwarts students. Narcissa was standing _awfully_ close to Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix sighed and scanned her eyes toward another tree, and then she froze.

There he was. She only knew it was him because he'd been pointed out to her at a garden party over the summer. She had been too shy to approach him then. Now he stood with a pewter chalice in his hand - wine, Bellatrix thought. For some reason, her mouth watered at the thought of Tom Riddle - _Lord Voldemort -_ drinking the rich red wine on offer from a pewter chalice. He was deep in conversation with Graeme Travers.

Tom Riddle was at once surprisingly handsome and somehow blurred and chipped in a strange way. He was nodding at something Graeme Travers was saying, and Bellatrix could see that Mr Riddle's face had sharp angles and lines. His cheekbones were high, and his chin was narrow. His nose was strong and straight. His brows were thick and stern-looking, and his thin but well-shaped lips were in a line. His eyes were very dark, as was his wavy hair, which was receding. But he looked as though someone had taken a watercolour paintbrush and dragged it over him, somehow. He looked like he had been dipped in water and left just a little soggy. It was odd, Bellatrix thought. He was so handsome, but there was some damage that she could not identify.

He seemed to sense her standing there staring at her, and he finally looked up from his conversation with Graeme Travers and locked eyes with Bellatrix. She tried to swallow, but a thick knot in her throat prevented her from doing so. She could hardly breathe as he stared at her, as he brought his pewter chalice to his lips and sipped, then used the long fingers of his left hand to straighten his elegant black brocade robes. Bellatrix licked her lips and bowed her head, deciding she ought to at least acknowledge the fact that she and Mr Riddle - _Lord Voldemort_ \- were gazing at one another. She listened to the strings playing a mournful Christmas carol, and then she heard a voice say, just a little too loudly,

"See you, then, Tom."

Bellatrix raised her eyes and found herself breathless again as Tom Riddle walked toward her. He sipped from his chalice again as he approached, and when at last he neared her, he nodded and said quietly,

"Miss Black. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, sir," Bellatrix said. "It is… erm… so nice to meet you."

"I've heard quite a lot about you," said Mr Riddle, and Bellatrix felt her brows fly up. She stared up at him. He was very tall, she thought.

"You have?"

"I've heard that you're curious about my movement," Mr Riddle said, taking another small sip. "I've heard from your father that you ask a lot of questions about what I mean to accomplish. Have you any questions for me now, Miss Black?"

Bellatrix smiled a little, bringing her fingertips to her lips. "I suppose… I want to know _how_ you intend to bring about these glorious days, sir. With what means?"

"With any means," said Mr Riddle simply. "With any means I must use. If words and simple persuasion work, then those will be our methods. But I do not suppose that will work on Blood Traitors and Mudbloods."

"Will there be war, then?" Bellatrix asked breathlessly. Mr Riddle put his chalice down on the tray of a passing House-Elf. He folded his hands before him and nodded.

"There may be war. Perhaps. Who can say? A war needs soldiers. Movements need loyalty. I am intrigued, Miss Black, to know whether your curiosity extends to agreement. I am interested in knowing whether your questions' answers have guided you in my direction."

Bellatrix thought for a moment of just how impressed she was with him, of just how much she agreed with everything he said. She had a sudden vision of herself, locked in a duel with Andromeda's stupid paramour Ted Tonks. She smirked and nodded up to Mr Riddle and said,

"I should like to be a soldier, I think."

Mr Riddle flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form, seeming to take her in. She felt abruptly self-conscious. Was she ugly to him? Was she beautiful? What did he think of her? She was only seventeen and he was in his forties; was he even thinking about her body? He seemed to be soaking in the sight of her. He finally murmured,

"I shall keep you more closely apprised of news in the movement, if you are an ally."

"I am your ally, sir," Bellatrix informed him. "I would serve under you gladly."

His eyes flashed vibrantly then, and he sucked on his bottom lip. He nodded and said in a quiet voice that barely cut through the string music,

"I loathe Christmas."

"As do I," Bellatrix sighed, smiling crookedly. He glanced away and said, as though he were telling her something significant,

"I know."

There was quiet between them for a moment then, until at last he said,

"I have many people to speak with, much as I would like to stand here all evening with you, Miss Black. When do you return to school after the Christmas holiday?"

"Oh. Erm… the third of January, sir," Bellatrix said. Tom Riddle - _Lord Voldemort_ \- nodded, and he returned his eyes to her. They were cold and serious now, and he was more handsome than ever.

"I should like to meet with you before you go," he said, "to discuss your interest in my movement. I look forward to our discussion."

"Thank you," Bellatrix said, bowing her head again, for it felt like the right thing to do. "Shall I… wait for an owl?"

"I will write to you, yes," he said crisply. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a Shacklebolt to talk to. They've got an alarming number of Blood Traitors in their midst these days. Good evening, Miss Black."

Bellatrix watched him bow a little, watched him walk away, and her breath was stolen once more. She felt like she'd been punched in the stomach; he had consumed her with one conversation. She nearly swooned where she stood. He was handsome and chipped around the edges. He was articulate and had all the right ideas. And he wanted to meet with Bellatrix again, in private, away from the bustle of the Christmas party.

"Bellatrix."

She whirled at the sound of her mother's voice and forced a smile as her Rosier grandparents walked up with Druella. Bellatrix kissed her grandfather's Rosier ring and began fluid conversation in French, unable to move her mind away from the magnificent wizard she'd met - _Lord Voldemort._


End file.
